


Saturday Morning 7 A.M.

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, M/M, cuddle fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His movement's hindered by the very sleepy, very cranky revolutionary-except-between-the-hours-of-three-and-nine-in-the-morning-when-he-regresses-to-the-mental-state-of-a-five-year-old-in-desperate-need-of-a-nap clinging to him.  "Enjolras," but the arm wrapped around his torso only winds tighter around him, "Enjolras, if you don't let me move I can't turn off the alarm."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Morning 7 A.M.

Seven o'clock arrives and with it a cacophony of discontented grumbling in competition with the alarm on Grantaire's phone.

"Turn it _off_ ," Enjolras groans from where his head is buried half in the pillow and half in Grantaire's side.

"I'm _trying_ ," and he is, but his movement's hindered by the very sleepy, very cranky revolutionary-except-between-the-hours-of-three-and-nine-in-the-morning-when-he-regresses-to-the-mental-state-of-a-five-year-old-in-desperate-need-of-a-nap clinging to him.  "Enjolras," but the arm wrapped around his torso only winds tighter around him, " _Enjolras_ , if you don't let me move I can't turn off the alarm."

Enjolras relaxes a little at that, allowing Grantaire to move just enough to reach the phone (and only just) from it's place on the nightstand.

The irritant stops and Grantaire lobs it across the room without ceremony, noting absently that it thlunks down somewhere near the closet in a pile of laundry.  He'll fish it out later but for the time being he's got an insistent man-toddler tugging him back down.

"Why 's it on?" He demands, voice still muffled as he drapes himself halfway across Grantaire and buries his face in crook of Grantaire's neck, "It's Saturday."

"I forgot? I don't know," Grantaire's fingers begin to run along the knobby spine hidden underneath Enjolras' t-shirt.  It's Saturday and he's got nothing pressing to do but now that he's up he's up, which is more than could be said for Enjolras.

He manages twenty minutes before he begins to get antsy, "Did you want breakfast?  We can grab bagels and some coffee - the good stuff instead of that Kirkland crap."

"I like your coffee," Enjolras murmurs with no intention of moving.

"Then let me up, I'll make us some."

"Don't you dare."

He groans, " _Enjolras_."  True, he's not the one with the disenfranchised to empower or the world to save but his back is getting sore just lying there and it's uncomfortably warm with Enjolras on top of him.  He begins to fidget, only to earn a pinch on his side.

Hair everywhere and eyes still half-shut with sleep Enjolras shifts up onto his elbows to look at him (but somehow even sleep-deprived he manages to look disapproving, go figure), " _Grantaire_ ," he returns with an authoritative drawl.

"For _once_ I have no papers and no exams, I told Coufeyrac not to call or text until at least one, Combeferre is coordinating whatever we need for next week's meeting and I am going to stay here, in bed, with you for the rest of the morning.  Because this is my day off and you're warm and I like the way you smell right now.  Are we clear?  Is that alright?"

And realizing fully how rare this opportunity must be for him Grantaire nods once, a little dazed.  Enjolras mutters ' _good_ ' as he leans in to kiss him lazily, mouths still stale with morning breath.  Not that Grantaire minds.

Enjolras nips at his lower lip as he pulls away and returns to his place sprawled over Grantaire, their hands clasped.  It's a grey morning anyway, Grantaire reasons as he shifts further into the embrace, bleak and cold.  No real reason to go out into that when he's got Apollo curled up against him here.

(still, after ten minutes he impatiently kicks the comforter off the bed in lieu of the human furnace stubbornly lying atop him)


End file.
